


Endorphins

by fortytworedvines



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, exercise fic, inspired by that tweet of c russ's, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/pseuds/fortytworedvines
Summary: Endorphin levels can be raised by getting hot and sweaty in two very different ways. Unfortunately for Bernie, she and Serena are meeting in the gym.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 20
Kudos: 113





	Endorphins

**Author's Note:**

> [The tweet](https://twitter.com/catherinerusse2/status/1220337388905472000)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Serena Campbell’s idea of a relaxing evening involves a bottle (or two) of Shiraz, so Bernie could not be more surprised when, as she jogs along on a treadmill, that same Serena Campbell appears next to her, clad in loose polo shirt and, of all things, jogging bottoms. She pulls an earbud out of her ear and slows to a walk. “Serena?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Serena says with something like a groan and steps warily onto the machine next to Bernie’s. She presses a few buttons and sets it off at a quick walking speed, grins at the befuddled look on Bernie’s face. “What? I have been in a gym before you know.”

“You have?” Bernie almost forgets to keep moving, finds herself perilously close to falling off before she snaps back to herself. “But, um, why are you here now?”

“Raf signed me up for that charity run next month.” Bernie’s treacherous brain notes that Serena is already slightly out of breath. “I don’t want to let the side down.” Then she laughs, “Or make a fool of myself. So here I am. And here you are, too.” Serena darts a mischievous glance at Bernie that makes her feel all hot and bothered.

“It’s raining,” Bernie says, hoping that the blush of her cheeks can be explained by the exercise, “I prefer to run on the street, but not in this weather.”

“Well, I would too if I had your legs. Show them off at every opportunity.” Bernie splutters and Serena laughs. “You’re too easy to tease.”

“Happy to oblige,” Bernie mumbles.

“I suppose I better get on with it,” Serena says with a sigh. “Less talk, more action.” She picks the speed up on her treadmill and Bernie follows suit, jogs along with her eyes firmly fixed in front of her and paying no attention to the breathy noises that Serena makes. No attention at all.

When her legs are burning and her chest raw, Bernie slows, walks for a few minutes then hops off the treadmill to stretch out. Maybe Serena was watching her, because she joins her almost immediately. Bernie gets up from a stretch to find herself staring at Serena’s chest. It’s flushed red and there are trails of sweat beading down her neck, over her collarbones and vanishing under the open neck of her shirt. Bernie watches one droplet roll. Cheek, neck, collarbones… She bites back a squeak with difficulty.

“Bernie.” Serena sounds amused and Bernie’s eyes shoot up to Serena’s face.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“I can’t believe people do this for fun,” Serena says as she moves through a few cursory stretches of her own. “What do they enjoy about it?”

Bernie’s gaze has dropped again. Good god, the woman is gorgeous. “Hmm?”

“What do you like about it?” Serena asks patiently. “Exercise, Bernie,” she adds as Bernie flushes.

“I – um.” Bernie struggles to think of words. “Endorphins?” she suggests, with a valiant attempt to keep her eyes up.

Serena laughs wickedly. “I can think of more fun ways to get hot and sweaty that also provide plenty of endorphins.” She finishes with a wink and Bernie dies.

In the changing rooms Bernie tried to keep her eyes firmly on the wall in front of her. “Not showering?” she asks as Serena produces a towel from her bag.

Serena shakes her head. “Not in these showers, thank you. I prefer luxury.”

“Luxury must be nice.”

“Your shower not up to much?” Serena asks, and Bernie knows that if she looked round she would see Serena’s eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Nothing in my flat is up to much,” she admits, “I had to find somewhere so quickly that there wasn’t much choice.”

“Well, come round to mine then,” Serena offers matter of factly.

Bernie does turn now, and oh god, Serena’s towel is tied neatly over her chest, and her shoulders are bare. “Now?” she says in a voice that narrowly avoids being inaudibly high pitched.

“Well, why not? Come on Bernie, treat yourself.”

* * *

Bernie showers in the family bathroom while Serena uses her ensuite. It’s hot and powerful and Bernie would almost be able to relax if it wasn’t for the knowledge that not ten metres away Serena Campbell is naked in her own shower, water cascading over that voluptuous body. Bernie bites down hard on her lips. It doesn’t do to think about Serena that way while she’s taking advantage of Serena’s kindness. She ignores the ache between her legs and concentrates on getting clean as quickly as possible.

“Will I see you there again?” Serena asks as she shows Bernie out, “Or is it back to the mean streets of Holby for you? It’s just, well, it’s nice to see a friendly face.” The sweat is gone now and Serena is pink and clean, fresh faced and sparkling.

Bernie doesn’t even stop to think. “Tell me when you’re going again and I’ll be there.”

“Friday?” Serena suggests.

“Okay,” Bernie says and tears herself from Serena’s doorstep. She looks back as she climbs into her car. Serena waves at her and she lifts a hand in acknowledgement, smiles a smile that she knows is pathetically soft, and drives away.

* * *

It becomes a regular, twice-weekly thing. Bernie forgoes her run in the quiet streets and joins Serena in the gym, runs next to her and tries to keep her eyes away from Serena’s chest, away from trailing droplets and heaving bosoms.

It becomes harder in the second week, when Serena turns up in a lower cut, tighter fitting top and lycra trousers. “I thought I should look the part,” she says as Bernie picks her jaw up from the floor. “What do you think?”

“I… um… it’s… Good. You look – fit. The part, I mean, you fit the part.” Bernie stumbles over her words and Serena laughs at her.

Serena also blithely assumes that Bernie will be showering at hers now, and Bernie spends many moments drenching herself in cold water, attempting to keep her thoughts away from her friend, her best friend, and what she would dearly like to do to her. And with her.

A shower turns into a shower and a drink turns into a shower and a drink and a sleepless night in Serena’s spare bedroom.

* * *

Finally the charity run rolls around. Bernie’s just finished her shift, so she changes into her usual gym gear in the locker room, meets Serena at the front of the hospital. She’s almost (almost) inured to the outfit now.

She jogs around the course with Serena. She could go faster, could give the cocky F1s and F2s a run for their money but she’s got used to running with Serena now and anyway, she wouldn’t be anywhere else.

“Don’t feel you have to wait for me,” Serena gasps on the second lap.

“I don’t,” Bernie says. She risks a sideways glance at Serena. She’s flushed, her chest is heaving. “I like running with you.”

“Getting hot and sweaty together, right?” Serena winks and Bernie stumbles. “Careful there, soldier.” Serena’s steadying hand is electric against the bare skin of her arm.

“Thanks,” Bernie manages.

Serena is triumphant at the finish. “There, that’ll show Raf,” she says as she collects her medal. “Coming?” She turns a querying eye to Bernie.

“Coming?” Bernie echoes, “Where?”

“Shower, drink… like we always do,” Serena says, ever so patiently.

“You don’t want to go to Albie’s?”

“Not like this, no,” Serena gestures at herself and Bernie allows herself to look at Serena in that low cut top and flushed chest. “Well?” Serena says eventually and Bernie’s eyes snap back to hers.

“Yes. I’ll just get my things and I’ll follow you.”

“Good girl,” Serena says with a wink that makes Bernie’s knees wobble.

* * *

Bernie has her now customary cold shower and joins Serena in the kitchen. Serena is wearing a dressing gown and Bernie stops short.

“Felt like relaxing,” Serena says. “Do you mind?” Bernie shakes her head, slips into a seat at the table and takes the wine that Serena offers. “Want to stay for dinner?” Serena asks casually, “I’m cooking spaghetti.”

Bernie stays for dinner. Feels overdressed in her shirt and trousers, sat across the table from Serena in her dressing gown. She makes polite, inane, conversation, always willing her eyes to stay level with Serena’s.

“You’re tense,” Serena murmurs as they retreat, Shiraz in hand, to the living room, “You realise you’ve just spent fifteen minutes talking about the weather? Come on, sit down.” She pushes Bernie down onto the sofa and sits down next to her, thigh flush against Bernie’s.

Bernie thinks she can feel the heat coming off her, or is that just the fire that races through her at Serena’s touch? She takes a large gulp of Shiraz.

“Bernie?” Serena’s voice is very slightly hesitant.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t mind, you know. I _don’t_ mind.”

“Mind what?” Bernie wonders if she has committed some unknown sin. Maybe she’s been hanging the towel up wrong in the bathroom. Serena’s fingers brush against her knee.

“You looking. At me.”

Bernie puts her glass down with a thud on the table next to her. “Oh, god, Serena, I’m sorry. It’s just – you – in those clothes.” She knows she’s blushing, looks everywhere but at Serena.

“Bernie.” Serena’s hand traces up her thigh a little, her thumb rubs circles that make Bernie’s skin flame. “It’s not a problem. I liked it.” And now Bernie does look at Serena. Her cheeks are tinged with pink but her eyes hold Bernie’s steadily. “I looked at you too.”

Bernie’s jaw drops. “You did? Oh.”

Serena Campbell is braver than Bernie ever could be, because she leans forward and presses soft lips against Bernie’s. “I did. You look delicious in lycra, Bernie.”

Serena moves away but Bernie catches her round her waist and holds her fast. “Serena,” she whispers, and the look on Serena’s face tells her everything she could want to know. “Do that again?”

Their second kiss is not soft. It is hot and deep and searching and leaves them both breathless. Bernie traces her fingers down the neckline of Serena’s dressing gown, to the point just between her breasts. She wants to rip it off her, kiss every inch of that glorious chest. She must say this out loud, because Serena laughs.

“Shall we go and get hot and sweaty together again?” she suggests, between needy kisses.

“I think I’ll like this way of raising our endorphin levels better,” Bernie says with a grin, clasps Serena’s hand and helps her off the sofa. “Lead on, Campbell.”


End file.
